


The Citadel of the Lakonians

by kathkin



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Gen, just using archive warning to be on the safe side, not actually that violent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-03 01:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6591742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the war-torn planet of Lakonia, the Doctor is accused of murder. The only way to clear his name is for him to name a champion, to fight a duel - to the death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode 5

In the catacombs below the citadel, the Doctor crept through the dust, his way lit by the orange light of a single match-flame. In the darkness ahead he heard a scuffling sound, a soft foot fall.

“Hallo?” he called into the shadows. “Lucius? Lucius, is that you?”

There was a heavy _thud_ as of flesh striking stone. Startled, the Doctor almost didn’t notice his match burning down to a nub. He dropped it into the dust, shaking burned fingers. “Lucius?” Crouching low, he groped forward, fumbling in his pockets for another match. “Are you there?” 

His reaching fingers touched smooth, porcelain-textured armour. He struck a match.

The flame flared up, reflecting off dark red armour. Stretched out at his feet was a prone figure. No, not just prone; dead. Dull, unseeing eyes gazed up at him. “Oh,” he said, “oh, oh no.” He stretched out a trembling hand to close Lucius’s eyes.

There was a clatter of heavy foot-falls and like a storm sweeping in six red-clad helmeted figures descended upon the chamber. Their glowing batons lit up the room green, casting deep, black shadows between the pillars and in the eye sockets of the skulls upon the walls. “Don’t move!”

“Oh, my!” said the Doctor, throwing up his hands. “I, I –”

One of the armoured men stepped forth and levelled a glinting, dagger-like gun at the Doctor’s head. “Murderer!”

Gazing up at the towering knight, the Doctor gulped. “Oh, crumbs.”

*

Zoe couldn’t say for sure what had woken her. She hadn’t been sleeping well, since they’d been in the citadel. The beds were too firm even for her frugal tastes; the hard, shadowed corners of her room unnerved her; and there was the constant trembling of the citadel as it rotated, the grinding of the vast gears set into the mountainside. The motion was barely perceptible, but after six days it was beginning to affect her nerves – not to mention her digestion.

At any rate, she was thirsty. Rolling out of bed, she dropped her feet onto the stone floor, wincing at the icy cold. The Lakonians didn’t believe in under-floor heating, just like they didn’t believe in hot running water or soft beds. That they could construct something as intricate as their citadel but couldn’t be bothered to invent anything comfortable or convenient was a source of endless aggravation to her. The sooner they saw the back of this place the better. Just a few loose ends to tie up, the Doctor said, from his last visit. Then straight back to the TARDIS. He’d promised.

She pattered to the door, which opened with a metal wheel as if on a submarine. They were heavy, unyielding things, but after almost a week she was finally starting to get the hang of it. She heaved the wheel around a quarter-turn and hauled open the door.  
Silky moonlight flooded the room. Screwing up her eyes, she stepped into the atrium, hurrying to the water-spout. There were no cups. She twisted the dial and drank directly from the spout, water dribbling down her chin.

Straightening, she wiped her face and looked towards the barred window. Not for the first time, she had the unnerving sense of imprisonment. Which was nonsense, of course. They were guests of the House of Rutelli – _honoured_ guests, at that. All the windows in the citadel were barred and all the doors were kept locked from the inside. This was a place built around function, around security, and she could respect that even if she didn’t like it.

Through the window, she could see the outlines of distant mountains, lit every few seconds by flashes of green and purple light – plasma-canons, firing back and forth. On Lakonia the guns were never quiet. You could hear them grumbling away on the edge of your hearing, as ever-present as the grinding of the gears.

She’d seen enough of war to last her a lifetime. She looked up at the line of greenish moons that illuminated the sky, their light all but blotting out the stars. It was small wonder the Lakonians called them gods.

A loud, metallic banging broke the grim silence. Zoe whirled around, so startled that for a moment she was unable to place the sound.

It came again – the hollow _bong, bong, bong_ of a fist connecting with the metal door. “Open!” cried a voice. “Open in the name of the War Queen!”

Since travelling with the Doctor, Zoe had picked up a – well, she wouldn’t call it a sixth sense, exactly, and she certainly didn’t believe in premonition. But she had acquired an instinct, so to speak. Sometimes she could just _feel_ that everything had gone horribly wrong.

She was halfway to the door when there was a _clunk_ of a wheel turning. Jamie stumbled out of his bedroom, his shirt hanging open, his hair mussed from his pillow. He’d been sleeping very peacefully and he wasn’t happy at being woken so rudely. At the sight of Zoe in her pyjamas, he rubbed his eyes and gestured at the door. “Will you go or will I?”

“ _You_ go,” Zoe whispered.

“I dinnae want to,” he whispered back.

“Well, _I_ don’t want to either!”

And so they both went, Jamie heaving the wheel around and Zoe yanking the door open a few inches. “Can we help you?” she said.

Outside in the vaulted corridor were three Lakonians in electric blue armour – armed, but that didn’t mean much. Lakonians were always armed. “The War Queen demands your presence at once!”

Jamie peered around the door, and scowled at them. “It’s the crack of dawn,” he said.

“What’s happened?” said Zoe.

“At once.” The guard’s hand settled on the dagger-gun at his waist. Jamie swallowed.

“At least let us put our clothes on,” said Zoe, unruffled by the quiet threat. “I’m _not_ meeting with the Queen in my pyjamas.” Privately, Jamie didn’t think they were in any position to make demands – but he also didn’t relish the thought of going down into the citadel without his boots.

The guard turned to his fellows – and nodded. “Five minutes.”

“We’ll be out in a moment,” said Zoe as chirpily as she could manage. She shoved the door closed with a _thunk_ and put her fists on her hips. It was just as well she’d already been up.

“What’s he got himself into this time?” said Jamie, buttoning his shirt.

“We don’t _know_ it’s the Doctor,” said Zoe. Jamie gave her a look. “Alright. It’s the Doctor.”

“He’ll have been pokin’ his nose in where it’s no’ wanted again,” said Jamie gravely, tucking his shirt into his kilt. “I did _say_ he shouldnae bother.” He wandered into his bedroom. “It’s no’ our problem if these people blow themselves to bits.”

Just for once, Zoe was inclined to agree with him. The Doctor had some sort of history with the Lakonians and some sort of fondness for their culture, but she couldn’t make sense of it. His tastes were bafflingly opaque sometimes. It was like Venusian poetry, or botany, or fishing.

Jamie stomped out of his room and dropped his boots upon the floor. “And dinnae try tae get all righteous on me. Ye _know_ I’m right.” True, the Lakonians were a race of fearsome warriors and he owed them _some_ respect, but they were rude, bloodthirsty people who were content to blow chunks off each other all day and night. Their planet had been at war for at least a thousand years, the Doctor said, and would still be at war a thousand years to come.

He glanced up at Zoe, still dithering in her pyjamas. “Ye no’ gettin’ your kit on?”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “I’ll be a moment.”

A little over five minutes later, dressed, her hair uncombed, she and Jamie were marched down the stairs. A pair of blue-armoured guards tramped ahead of them. Another pair took up the rear. She had the uncomfortable feeling she was under arrest.

“I feel like I’m under arrest,” complained Jamie.

“You aren’t under arrest,” said a guard.

“Where _are_ we going, then?” said Zoe. “What’s happened?”

“The queen demands your presence.”

Jamie leaned down and said quietly, “no’ very chatty, are they?” A guard gave him a dirty look. “Aye, well, we’ve a right to know!”

“The queen –”

“The queen _demands our presence_ ,” said Zoe. “Yes, we know.”

“We heard you the first time,” said Jamie. Clearly that was all they were to be told. There was no sense in badgering a Lakonian; he’d learned that very quickly.

From the staircase, they were taken to one of the moving platforms that aided movement from one end of the citadel to the other. It bore them inwards and down, deep, deep down to the court, hewn from the rock of the mountain.

The great hall resembled a cathedral blended with a nuclear bunker. Windowless, the walls and ceiling unpainted stone polished to a sheen. There was no decoration, nowhere to sit, no furnishings at all but for the raised platform in the centre where the War Queen presided. The light shown harsh and unforgiving from directly above.

Empty, it was echoing, cold, eerily vast. Packed with what had to be every Lakonian noble, it was almost claustrophobic. The central platform and its approach were empty. Otherwise the hall was crammed with Lakonians wearing armour in every grungy, muted colour of the rainbow, all of them unhelmeted and all of them very much armed.

They were safe, Zoe told herself. The Doctor was an old friend to these people and fearsome as they might appear they valued friendship and loyalty, and they’d been welcoming hosts. Beside her, Jamie slipped his hand, as subtly as he could, to rest upon his dirk.

On their entrance, the packed Lakonians parted, allowing them through to the platform. There, on the ground, was something huddled beneath a canvas sheet; and there was the Doctor, looking very small and very worried. The Lakonians weren’t much taller than humans on average, but in their armour they were towering; and the Doctor had a way of making himself look tiny. His guards dwarfed him. He stood between them, toying with his hands and staring at the sheet.

When he saw them, his eyes lighted and he said, “Jamie, Zoe – I –” He stepped forward, raising his hand as if to clasp theirs. Jamie made a move towards him, but the Doctor’s guard put a gloved hand on his shoulder and tugged him back into his place. He shook his head – just once, but the message was clear. The Doctor wasn’t to speak to them. 

Looking properly at the shape under the sheet, Jamie had a dreadful suspicion. It didn’t bear thinking about. He’d known the Doctor was in trouble, but not like this. This was deep, deep trouble. Mentally, he readied himself for a fight. Standing amongst all these men and women in armour, he felt acutely vulnerable. He shuffled closer to Zoe, resolving to protect her, if nothing else.

In the eerie silence, Zoe let her eyes roam over the assembled Lakonians. She recognised many of the nearest faces, but few of them could she put names to. Most of the nearest warriors were in blood-red – the House Rutelli, their hosts and ostensibly the Doctor’s friends. All were stony-faced. That boded ill.

There was a grinding of metal. “The War Queen!” cried a herald. “The War Queen approaches! All hail!”

The many boots of the Lakonians clicked briskly on the stone floor, but uncharacteristically, they didn’t return the salute. Jamie swallowed. He’d been all ready to join in.

Booted feet slammed down. Jamie and Zoe sprang apart, making room for the queen’s guards, followed by Queen Proserpina herself. She marched between them, her black armour glistening like liquid, and leapt onto the platform. In full armour and helmet, she was a magnificent figure, taller and broader even than most Lakonian men, jet-black and as impassive as a tomb.

All eyes in the hall on her, she removed her helmet, revealing piercing eyes and white-blonde hair cropped short. Wasting no time, she declared, “there has been a death!”

Even before the sheet was pulled back, Zoe’s stomach plummeted. She knew just what and who she would see, but still she gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. Beside her, Jamie said softly, “oh, no. Lucius.”

He lay on the stone floor, clad in his red armour, his head tilted back, his mouth open, his eyes staring, quite, quite dead. A shudder ran through the hall at the sight of him, his bushy black beard dull, his skin turning waxen.

Even as her eyes filled with tears, Zoe scanned the body. There was no sign of injury. No blood. His armour was intact. Poison, then. Poor Lucius. If there was one thing a Lakonian feared, it was a soft death, a death away from battle.

“Lucius of the House Rutelli lies murdered,” proclaimed Queen Proserpina. “I call Tibullus Rutelli.”

The foremost Rutelli stepped forward. His dark eyes flashed over Jamie and Zoe, hardening. He turned to the queen. “My War Queen.”

“Does the House Rutelli seek recompense?”

“We do.” His head held high, Tibullus strode forward till he was directly before the queen – and pointed at the Doctor. “I accuse this man!”

“What?” cried Zoe.

“You don’t think the _Doctor_ did this?” said Jamie as the assembled Lakonians began to mutter.

“He wouldn’t!”

“Are ye out of your –”

“He couldn’t!”

“They were _friends_ –”

“Silence!” Queen Proserpina’s voice echoed throughout the chamber, quieting the rumble of voices.

“Yes, thank you,” said the Doctor. “Quiet, Jamie, er, Zoe. If you’ll allow me to explain –”

“You will hold your tongue!” cried Tibullus. “You are known here, Doctor – we have all heard tales of you – you slippery, silver-tongued fox –”

“Now, that’s hardly fair!” exclaimed the Doctor. He turned to the queen. “War Queen, I really can explain everything, if you’d only listen –”

Queen Proserpina held up a hand. “Speak, Tibullus.”

Tibullus drew himself up, and said, “you were found standing over the body. Do you deny this?”

“I – I found him –” the Doctor stammered.

“Do you deny it?” demanded Queen Proserpina.

The Doctor’s shoulders slumped. “No. No I – I don’t.”

“Oh, let him speak!” cried Zoe.

“For pity’s sake –” said Jamie.

Queen Proserpina fixed them with a withering gaze. “You will be silent or you will be removed.”

They were silent.

From one of his men, Tibullus took a gun-shaped object. When he drew closer, Zoe saw that it was a syringe with a trigger and a long needle. The glass chamber lay empty.

“Do you know _this_?” Tibullus thrust it at the Doctor.

“Of course I do, “said the Doctor, tapping his fingers together. “It’s a fluid injector. Not, ah, native to this planet, I’d say.”

Tibullus held the syringe high in the air. “Poison!” he cried. “A weak death! An insult! A dishonour!”

His last word the Lakonians echoed. “Dishonour!” they cried, enraged. “Dishonour!” Lucius had been one of their brightest. To have him die by such a cruel means was unthinkable.

Jamie looked at his face, at his dull, gaping eyes, and felt sick. He’d seen enough death in his travels with the Doctor that the horror of it was muted – but it was never easy. Lucius had been a good man, a brave warrior, almost a friend. He’d welcomed them into his home and sat with Zoe for hours talking about the workings of the citadel and he’d shown Jamie around the armoury. And now, just like that, he was gone.

“The weapon of a weak man!” Tibullus’s arm swung around to point at the Doctor. “A man of books and knowledge! A scientist!”

“Yes yes, a scientist,” said the Doctor, wringing his hands desperately. “Of course I know what a fluid injector is! But it certainly isn’t mine – oh, if you’ll only let me explain –”

“Enough talk!” cried Tibullus. “My War Queen, I ask this man’s life!”

“Granted,” said the War Queen – grimly, but simply, as if the Doctor’s life were a trifle.

Jamie cried, “what!” Zoe, “no, you _can’t_ –” They threw themselves forward, meaning to go to the Doctor, but the guards held them fast.

The Rutelli had raised a jubilant cry, happy that justice was to be done; the Doctor was stammering, backing away. His back connected with a broad-chested guard and he looked up, startled. An armoured hand gripped his shoulder. “Your highness,” he said, momentarily forgetting the proper address for the War Queen. “Now, this really isn’t fair – you haven’t even heard, ah, my side of the story – surely I ought to at least have a trial!”

“A trial?” echoed the War Queen. “You ask for a trial”

The Lakonians quieted, the nearest men and women bristling like angry cats. The guard released his grip on the Doctor’s shoulder, allowing him to step forward. He adjusted the sit of his coat, cleared his throat, and said, “yes, I do.”

“My War Queen, this is unacceptable,” said Tibullus. “This man is not one of our people – he has no honour, he has not the right to –”

Queen Proserpina silenced him. “The Doctor has long been a friend to our people,” she pronounced. “He has aided us in the past. We owe him a chance to prove his innocence.”

The Doctor beamed and bobbed his head. “Thank-you.”

Queen Proserpina’s armour creaked as she stretched up still taller. “You will name your champions.”

“Ah, excuse me?” The Doctor’s face crumpled.

To her horror, Zoe saw that Tibullus was grinning a sick grin. “I name Martius!” he cried. “Martius!” He turned so that his voice echoed all around the hall. A cheer went up and the largest of the assembled Rutelli stepped forward, a mountain of scarlet armour. He removed his helmet, revealing flaming red hair. Tibullus clapped him on the shoulder.

“Ah, now,” said the Doctor. “I’m not sure this is, ah, quite the sort of trial I had in mind –”

“You will name your champions, Doctor,” Queen Proserpina said coolly.

“There’s really no need for fighting – if you’ll just, ah, well, let me speak, I can explain –” His hands held up, the Doctor backed away, recoiling from the unfolding scene.

All at once, it hit Jamie just what sort of trial the Lakonians had in mind. He looked at Martius, his guts churning. Beside him, Zoe said softly, “oh – oh, no.”

“You will name your champion or your life will be forfeit.”

Jamie looked at the Doctor, pale and stammering, glancing hither and thither as if the solution might be hiding somewhere in the crowd. He looked at Zoe, her hands pressed to her mouth in horror. He looked at Tibullus and Martius, a pair of brutes in red armour. He looked at poor Lucius’s crumpled body.

“But this isn’t what I _meant_ –” persisted the Doctor.

“I ask you for the last time, Doctor,” said Queen Proserpina. “Who is your champion?”

“I, that is –”

“I am!” Shrugging off his guard, Jamie stepped forward. “I’m his champion.”

“What?” said Zoe, gaping at him, horrified.

“ _What_?” hissed the Doctor.

Queen Proserpina’s eyes rolled up and down Jamie, sizing him up. “Come forth.”

Jamie took a deep breath, moistened his lips, and stepped towards the War Queen.

“Jamie, no!” Darting forward, the Doctor took Jamie by the arm, trying to guide him away. Jamie shrugged him off. “War Queen, he doesn’t know what he’s saying –”

“Aye, I do. Shut up,” said Jamie.

“I – I won’t allow this!” said the Doctor. “If you’ll only let me explain – there’s no need for this –” He tugged fruitlessly on Jamie’s arm. “Oh – oh Jamie, listen to me –”

Queen Proserpina’s voice rang out. “Do you accept the challenge?”

Tibullus looked Jamie up and down, a sneering curl to his lip. Jamie pulled himself up to his full height, trying to look as if he knew what in heaven’s name he was doing, feeling very small. “We accept gladly, my War Queen.”

“Then it is agreed.”

“No, no, _no_ ,” the Doctor said softly.

“The trial will take place at the next dawn,” pronounced Queen Proserpina. She turned on Jamie. “You are a stranger on our world. Do you swear on your honour to uphold the challenge?”

Jamie looked at the Doctor’s despairing face. He steeled himself, and said, “aye. I do.”

*

“How could you be so – so stupid?”

They’d been taken to an antechamber in Queen Proserpina’s own house, a stark, windowless room like all the others in the inner citadel. The Doctor had requested a moment alone with his friends, before they discussed terms; and the second the door had closed, he had rounded on Jamie.

“Have you lost your mind? How could you be so reckless! What were you thinking?”

“Och, that’s a fine way to say thank you!” Jamie snapped back. “I was tryin’ tae save your neck!”

“Do you have any idea – you do realise this is a fight to the death? Jamie?”

A shiver ran through Jamie. He did his best to disguise it, and lifted his chin. “Aye, so? I can do it.”

It was as if the Doctor hadn’t heard him. Wringing his hands, he said, “oh – oh, what possessed you to do it?”

“They were gonnae kill you!”

His hands stilling, the Doctor turned sharply to look at Jamie. “I had the situation under control!”

“Aye, well, that’s no’ what it looked like from where I was standing!”

The Doctor flapped his hand. “I would have found a way out of it. There was no need for you to – to –”

Jamie folded his arms. “I know what I’m doin’.”

“I really don’t think you do – the Lakonians are a, a warrior race, Jamie –”

“Aye, and so am I!” Jamie jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “I’ve been to war. I can handle myself in a fight!”

“Not like this.”

“I can so!”

“The Lakonians aren’t like you or I, Jamie – fighting is all that they do, do you understand? From birth to death, they don’t ever stop.”

“Aye, I _know_ that –”

“You won’t win this fight.”

Jamie stuck out his chin, puffed up his chest, and said, “aye, well, we’ll just see about that.”

“Oh, you – you idiot boy!” The Doctor’s simmering fury boiled into rage. “You stupid, reckless child! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Do you have any idea the – the _mess_ you’ve made? I had it under control until you – you –”

“Hey, stop shouting at me! I was only tryin’ tae help –”

“Oh, and a fat lot of good it’s done us, hmm!” said the Doctor. “I’ve half a mind to leave you to dig your own way out of this –”

“Aye, and maybe I will!”

“I’d like to see _that_!”

“What was I supposed to do? They were gonnae kill you!”

“Blundering idiot!”

“Och, you can go to hell while you’re at it!”

“Will you both _shut up_!” shouted Zoe from her seat on the bench. Shamed, they shut up. “This isn’t helping.”

Shoulders heaving, hands balled into fists at his sides, the Doctor turned to Jamie and said, low, “you’re going to go to Proserpina and withdraw your challenge. Tell her – tell her whatever you like. Whatever it takes, do you hear me?”

Jamie folded his arms and began to prepare a retort – but thankfully Zoe got there first. “I don’t think he _can_ withdraw,” she said, morose. “The Queen made him swear an oath. They take those very seriously, don’t they? Oaths?”

Silence descended over the chamber. Jamie realised he’d had it in the back of his mind that he _could_ withdraw, if he were to change his mind – but Zoe was right. They’d never let him back down. Breathing hard, he felt the first stirrings of real trepidation. He’d been so wired up, he hadn’t fully processed what he’d agreed to. He’d stopped them killing the Doctor on the spot – that was all that mattered. “What sort of a fight _is_ this, anyway?” he ventured.

“I’ve no idea.” The Doctor had all but deflated, the fight draining from him. His face was drawn. “I’ve, ah, never seen a Lakonian trial.”

“It makes no sense,” said Zoe. “How does Jamie fighting Martius prove whether or not you – whether or not you’re innocent?”

Toying with his hands, the Doctor began to explain. “The Lakonians, ah,” he said. “The Lakonians believe that fighting is – well, a sacred act. The outcome of any combat is determined by their god of war – so, ah, naturally in a trial the god will intervene – to ensure the, ah, right party wins.”

“But that’s nonsense!” cried Zoe.

“Yes, but I dare say the defeated parties aren’t in a position to argue,” said the Doctor. “They can be a brutal people.”

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” she said drily.

Jamie rubbed a thumb over his lips, contemplating. “Look, Doctor –”

With a metallic wrenching, the wheels began to spin. The doors ground open and in strode Queen Proserpina, Tibullus – and Martius, even more formidable than Jamie remembered. In the hall he’d looked big. In the cramped antechamber, his head all but scraping the ceiling, he was a giant.

“You have had your moment,” said Queen Proserpina. “Now we talk.”

“My War Queen,” the Doctor rubbed his hands together. “Now really, this isn’t fair – Jamie isn’t one of your people, there’s no way he can stand against, ah, Martius here –”

Tibullus snarled, “Cease your wheedling, you –” Queen Proserpina held up a hand, silencing him.

“It will be made fair,” she said. “We will remove all possible advantages. Martius has agreed to remove his armour. He and your champion may agree on weapons before the trial.”

She looked at Jamie, and he realised he was expected to speak. “Thank you,” he said. “That’s, ah – good of you.” He eyed Martius. Lord, but his hands were big. Those were hands for cracking skulls open.”

“To that end, Doctor,” said Queen Proserpina, “you are to be separated.”

The Doctor blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Tibullus has asked that you and your champion be separated until the trial.”

Jamie’s arms fell to his sides. “What?”

“ _What_?” sputtered the Doctor. “But – War Queen, surely this isn’t customary – I’ve never, ah, heard of –”

“It’s _customary_ to remove advantages,” said the War Queen firmly. “Tibullus feels that your counsel will give your champion an unfair advantage. I fear he is right, and so I have concurred. I’m sorry, Doctor, but you are to be confined.” She waved a hand sharply at the door, calling in her guards.

Zoe stared at her, horrified. Jamie said, “but we’re no’ done talking.”

As her guards fixed their steely-blue hands on the Doctor’s shoulders, Queen Proserpina said, “you may talk after the trial.”

She gestured to the guards. They tugged the Doctor backwards, away from Jamie and Zoe. “There might not be an after!” he protested. He turned to Jamie, eyes wide and haunted. “Jamie – I –” His heels scraped on the metal floor. “Oh, oh let me go! You brutes! You –” The doors shut with a grating _clang_ , cutting off any further protests. Jamie stared at the empty space, horrified.

“That wasn’t fair,” said Zoe.

“We were _talking_ ,” said Jamie.

Tibullus snorted. “You people talk too much.”

Surging forward, Jamie said, “aye, well, you could stand to talk a wee bit less, ye great –”

At Tibullus’s side, Martius bristled. Zoe rested a hand on Jamie’s arm. “Jamie,” she said, gently drawing him back.

“Dismissed, Tibullus,” said Queen Proserpina – and Jamie appreciated the support, however tiny.

Being along with the War Queen was a formidable experience. Zoe felt Jamie’s hand drift to her back, and she didn’t blame him. She began to speak, but Proserpina held up a hand. “You will go with my guards to your chambers,” she said. “There you will remain until the trial.” Her face momentarily softened. “You must ask if you need anything.”

Jamie and Zoe exchanged a glance. She shrugged. “Thank you,” said Jamie. “I, erm. We will.”

The walk back to their quarters was conducted in silence. Jamie kept his hand on Zoe’s back for the first corridor, whereupon she shrugged him off, tired, frustrated, and still rumpled from her bed. Part of her itched to go straight back to sleep, but there was far too much adrenaline in her system. She was near boiling point.

The guards took up their posts. The door clanged shut, locked – from the inside, as ever, but it made no difference. They couldn’t leave. The guards could force the door if necessary. They were imprisoned as surely as if they were locked in a cell.

Before the ringing of metal on metal had faded, she turned on him. “Oh, well done, Jamie!” she snapped. “ _Now_ look what you’ve –”

“Och, don’t you start!”

“You’ve done some stupid things in the past but this really does –”

“Hey, I was tryin’ tae help!” Jamie cried. “Fat lot of good _you_ were, just standin’ there – moping!”

“ _Moping_?” Zoe bit back what she wanted to say to _that_ , and drew in a deep breath. “Don’t you _dare_ try to pin this on me.”

“I wasnae tryin’ tae pin it on you, I just –” With a grumbling sigh, Jamie strode across the room and took her by the shoulders. “You need tae think of a way out of this.”

“ _I_ need to?” said Zoe. “It’s _your_ mess. _You_ think of a way out of it.”

“Och, come on! You’re the one that’s good at thinkin’. You have to help me.”

Zoe shrugged off his hands. “Come up with your own plan for a change.”

“Hey, I had a plan!”

“Oh?”

“Aye, it was say whatever it took to stop them killin’ the Doctor right there – and it worked, didn’t it? Now it’s your turn.” He gestured at her. “Go on!”

“Oh, great plan, Jamie,” she said. “Now Martius is going to kill you, and, and then they’ll kill the Doctor, and then where will _I_ be? Stuck on this _horrible_ planet with no way back to the TARDIS and no friends left and – and –” She was close to tears. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to hide it. She would _not_ cry in front of Jamie.

“What makes you so sure he’s gonnae kill me?” said Jamie, a little hurt and deeply uncomfortable. He desperately hoped she wasn’t about to start crying. He couldn’t handle girls crying at the best of times. Zoe crying might just break him.

“He’s a Lakonian,” said Zoe as if that explained everything.

“Ach, I can take him,” said Jamie with a wave of his hand.

He sounded so confident that Zoe took her hands away from her face and said, sincerely, “what, really?”

“Lord, no, did you see the size of him? I’m a dead man!” Clutching his head, Jamie reeled back, the weight of what he’d just said settling around his neck like a millstone. “Och, I’m a dead man, Zoe, I –” He staggered to the polished stone bench and sank down, taking his head in his hands, struggling to breathe. He felt as if he might be dying already. He thought of Martius’s skull-crushing hands and tried not to imagine them wrapped around his poor neck. 

Zoe sat beside him, and, rather awkwardly, patted his shoulder.

“I’m in way over my head, Zoe,” he said.

“Yes, you are,” Zoe agreed.

Straightening up, he said, “what are we goin’ tae do?”

“We’ll think of something.” She squeezed his shoulder. Jamie reached up, and patted her hand, and managed a smile.

*

In his windowless cell, deep beneath the heart of the citadel, the Doctor paced from corner to corner. It wasn’t a large cell. Inspecting every inch of it in search of possible escape routes had taken him all of a quarter hour. The rock was smooth, seamless, polished to a shine – but for the metal door, locked from the outside and guarded by Proserpina’s finest.

He had hoped – dearly hoped – to never get on the wrong side of a Lakonian. Now here he was, on the wrong side of the most heavily guarded door in the citadel, and the worst of it was he hadn’t done a thing wrong.

The door was as impenetrable as the walls. “Oh – bother and botheration!” he cried, and aimed a kick at the steely surface. Pain jarred all the way up his leg and he stumbled back, almost falling on his behind.

Nursing his foot, he glowered at the door as if it had personally offended him. Then, with a heavy sigh, he began to triple check the walls.

*

“Any bright ideas?” said Jamie over dinner.

He and Zoe had been in their respective rooms all day – not sulking, exactly, for neither of them was the sort to sulk. Merely taking some time to themselves, to think. Zoe had done a lot of thinking. Jamie had practiced his knife work and almost succeeded in convincing himself he could take on a brute like Martius.

Zoe chewed thoughtfully. Lakonian food took a lot of chewing. It was always a uniform grey stew with lumps of indefinable meat and glutinous strings. They ate only once a day and no amount of pleading could convince them to change the schedule for guests. After the first day or so one got hungry enough to choke down the fare.

Swallowing her gummy mouthful – with some difficulty – Zoe said, “I’ve given it some thought.”

“Oh?”

“The Lakonians are quite possibly the least reasonable people I’ve ever met,” she said. “They’re stubborn as – as – well, as a very stubborn thing. I don’t think we’re going to talk them out of this.” She stirred the grey mush. “And we don’t stand much of a chance of getting out of this _room_ with those guards on the door – let alone getting out of the citadel – and then down the mountain to the TARDIS.”

“So?” said Jamie, ever hopeful.

“So, unless the Doctor comes up with something very clever before morning,” said Zoe, twisting her fork into a mound of gluten, “I think you’re just going to have to win.”

Jamie thunked down his fork. “Oh, great idea, Zoe!” he snapped. “See now, I was thinkin’ I might just _throw_ it and let the bastard kill me.”

“Well, it’s the best idea we’ve got, isn’t it?” Zoe stared at the ugly grey mess of her dinner. She’d pulled what little structure it had to pieces and eaten perhaps two bites.

“‘Spose so,” Jamie said, doggedly shovelling mush into his mouth.

“I don’t know how you can eat,” said Zoe in dismal awe.

“I’ll need my strength,” said Jamie. He gestured at her almost-full plate. “I’ll have yours if you dinnae want it.”

With a disgusted sigh, Zoe emptied her stew onto his plate. “You’ll make yourself sick,” she warned.

Jamie shrugged. “I think I’m gettin’ to like this stuff.” He paused in his shovelling. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“For snappin’ at you,” he said. “You’re tryin’ tae help, and I – this whole mess is my fault.”

Resting her elbows on the table, Zoe said, “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it and I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done the same thing – in your position.”

“Thanks,” said Jamie, stirring his dinner.

“And I’m sorry for not being more help,” she went on. “It’s just – I’ve been thinking a lot about Lucius.”

Jamie glanced up at her, a guilty look in his eyes. “Oh, aye. Lucius.” He swallowed. “I’d forgotten about him – what with everything – everything that’s been goin’ on.” He looked away. “I dinnae understand who’d want to kill him.”

“He was very important, I think,” said Zoe. “I’m sure he must have had any number of political enemies.”

“Aye, it always comes down to politics, doesn’t it,” said Jamie, jabbing his fork into a chunk of something dubiously meaty.

Zoe ignored him. “What _I_ don’t understand is how they got that fluid injector,” she said. “I got a good look at it, and the Doctor’s right. It’s a common enough medical tool – but it’s not local.”

“Anyone could’ve got ahold of it, if it’s common,” Jamie suggested.

“Through the blockade?” said Zoe. “This whole planet’s under a self-imposed trade embargo. There aren’t _any_ ships coming or going, at least officially.”

“Aye, _officially_ ,” said Jamie, but he conceded the point. Chewing thoughtfully, he swallowed and said, “my money’s on that Tibullus.”

“What?” said Zoe. “Why?”

“He’s shifty,” said Jamie. “ _And_ he’s after the Doctor.”

Zoe gave him a look. “You can’t just run around accusing people of murder just because they’re ‘shifty’ and they want to kill the Doctor.”

“Why not?”

“All sorts of people want to kill the Doctor,” said Zoe. “He gets on people’s bad sides. It’s in his nature. And you have to admit, it must have looked suspicious.”

“Ach,” said Jamie, the way he did when he knew she was right, but wanted to argue anyway.

“Besides,” said Zoe. “Lucius was Tibullus’s _brother_. If there’s one thing I know about the Lakonians, it’s that they’re _obsessed_ with family ties. I’ve been reading some of the histories in their archives and they’re positively stuffed with stories about Lakonians avenging their siblings – and then getting murdered – and then their siblings avenge _them_ –” She paused. “Come to think of it, maybe that’s why they instituted this absurd legal system.”

Jamie made an uncertain noise.

“Anyway, my point is, the Lakonians think family is the most important thing in the world – after fighting other factions of Lakonians, of course – and I can’t imagine one would _ever_ kill his own brother. They’re a bit like your people I suppose.”

Jamie considered, biting his lip. “My people kill their brothers sometimes,” he pointed out. “Ach, I know what you mean. It was just an idea.” He scraped up the last of their combined dinners.

After a moment’s silence, Zoe said, “do you think you can do it?”

“Eh? Do what?”

“You know,” she said. “Fight Martius.”

Jamie chewed as he considered. In truth, pugnacious as he was he’d never dare pick a fight with someone as big as Martius. It was all a matter of knowing how to choose your battles. But now he’d gone and chosen this one and he’d have to live with the consequences. “I don’t know,” he said. “He’s big – he’s probably slower than me. I – ” He inhaled deeply. “I’ll do my best.”

“I suppose,” said Zoe, “that’s all you can do.”

Outside, the sun was setting over the mountains. When it rose again, the guards would come for them and they’d be taken still deeper into the citadel – and then their fate would be in the lap of the gods.

*

In the dark, gloomy hours before dawn Zoe sat in their atrium, her knees pulled up to her chest, wiggling her bare toes. She’d looked in on Jamie a few minutes before. He’d been fast asleep, stomach-down on the bed. She was concerned that he could sleep so soundly – not to mention a little envious. She’d always envied Jamie his ability to sleep any time, anywhere. The Doctor said he was like a cat. She didn’t know enough about cats to say.

Thinking of the Doctor gave her an unpleasant pang of fear. On reflex, she glanced at the door, still half-expecting him to tumble through any second, all smiles and apologies and escape plans. Were it anyone else she might have given up, but he had such a proclivity for last-minute rescues – she couldn’t give up hope. Wrapping her arms tighter around herself against the chill, she forced herself to look away from the door, to watch the macabre spectacle of lights beyond the barred window.

In his metal room, Jamie woke with the sense that dawn was breaking, or else would soon. There were no windows in his chamber and little light seeped around the edges of the door, but there was a hushed quality to the air, a softness. He rolled onto his back, his head spinning as he remembered the events of the previous morning.

It had almost been a game at first, a ploy to get them to release the Doctor. Well, they’d not released anyone and it was getting realer by the minute. If it was almost dawn then there could be only minutes before the guards came. They’d take him and Zoe and then – then what? He couldn’t imagine what might happen when he was in the arena.

He let himself consider running. Despite all that Zoe had said, he couldn’t shake the feeling that if they just made a break for it, they might stand a chance of getting to the Doctor – and then the Doctor could get them somewhere safe, like he always did. They could laugh about this mess in the TARDIS later – like they always did.

_Well_ , he told himself, _a Maccrimmon’s never run from a fight yet_. He didn’t intend to start now. He crawled off the hard bed, stepped into his boots, and secured his dirk. There.

In the atrium, Zoe was curled up on the stone bench, fast asleep. He rubbed his eyes and padded over to shake her awake.

“Hmm?” She blinked up at him.

“It’s morning, hen.” Or as good as. Outside the sky was an eerie blue-grey. Zoe scowled at the window as if the dawn itself were responsible for their misfortunes.

“Any sign of the Doctor?” she said, hauling herself off the bench.

Jamie looked around, checking odd corners. “None yet.” He fetched her some water and went to the window, gazing out at the rising orange sun.

Wiping her mouth, Zoe came to his side. “Are you ready?”

Jamie exhaled, long and slow. “I don’t know.”

They stood side by side in silence, watching the sun creep steadily over the mountains. At length, they both began to speak. “You go,” said Jamie.

“No, you first.”

“I was just gonnae say,” he said. “Whatever happens today – you’ll look after him?”

Zoe stared at him. He was so earnest – he was _always_ so earnest – and she could scarcely believe he’d already resigned himself to – to the inevitable. “You’re going to come back,” she assured him.

“Aye, but,” he said, “either way.”

She met his gaze, and held it, waiting for him to flinch.

A clanging of armour-on-metal rang through the room. “Open up!” barked a guard. “Tis dawn!”

Jamie nodded slowly. “Aye, well,” he said. “I’m no’ getting’ any readier.” Turning to the door, he jerked his head for her to follow.

As they walked across the atrium, she reached for his hand, or he for hers. Whichever, they found each other’s hands and clung on tight till they reached the door.

*

The arena sat at the heart of the citadel. A round, functional space, tall and narrow like a chimney. Cold stone seats ran up the sides, a few of them already occupied by Lakonians. The arena itself was encased in sturdy mesh, too strong to break and too fine to climb. The floor was freshly sanded.

At one end there was a metal doorway, locked from the outside. At the other was a mesh cage enclosing just enough space for a seated prisoner and two guards. It was there that they brought the Doctor, manhandling him through the cage door. “Now, there’s no need to be rough,” he said, his voice echoing through the mostly empty arena.

An armoured hand gripped his shoulder. With a grunt, the Lakonian guard shoved him onto the bench. Blinking up at him, the Doctor said sweetly, “I don’t suppose I could have some water, could I? I’m quite parched.” The guards stared rudely ahead. “Ah, well.” Knitting his fingers together, he looked at the door opposite. It stood closed.

Beyond the door was a cramped chamber, carved from stone. Two vast wheels locked the way to the arena. Through a metal grating, Jamie glimpsed a second chamber, a long narrow space lined with every kind of weapon. Glinting things of metal and glass and stone, sharpened blades and guns with shining muzzles, clubs and scythes and spiked maces and energy beams. He swallowed.

Martius was standing across the chamber, his helmet under his arm but otherwise a statuesque red giant in his armour. Jamie looked him up and down, his heart sinking. He’d been hoping that perhaps Martius wasn’t quite the colossus he remembered; a man’s memory could play tricks, after all. But there he stood, his head all but brushing the ceiling.

Tibullus, Jamie was relieved to note, was nowhere to be seen. He nodded politely to Martius. “Mornin’,” he said. Martius grunted. “Did ye sleep well?”

Martius gave him a hard, scrutinising look. At length he said, “yes. I slept well.” His voice was a deep, bass rumble.

“Well,” said Jamie, trying to look and sound as if his guts weren’t full of worms, “good.”

Coming into the room, an attendant grunted to get their attention. He was a kind of referee, Jamie quickly gathered, there to enforce what few rules there were. Martius had already disarmed, laying his array of weapons on the stone table. His heart heavy, Jamie surrendered his dirk, laying it beside Martius’s formidable arsenal with a _clink_.

He kept his hand on the hilt, reluctant to let go, wondering if he’d ever see it again; wondering if they’d have the decency to give it to Zoe to remember him by or if Tibullus would get to keep it like some sick trophy.

Stepping back with a sigh of resignation, he found Martius giving him a curious look. “Do you know how to use that?” he rumbled, nodding at the dirk.

Down to business. “Aye,” said Jamie with a brisk nod. “I do.”

“Then we shall fight with knives,” said Martius. “Agreed?”

Jamie glanced through the grating at the weapons on offer and resolved that he was better off with something he was used to. “Aye,” he said. “Agreed.” He went for a handshake. Martius gave him a puzzled look. He wiped his sweaty hand on his kilt and pretended he hadn’t.

They weren’t allowed to enter the armoury. The attendant fetched them two identical knives with plain wooden hilts. Each of them was allowed to handle both, to confirm that there was nothing to choose between them.

All that was left was for Martius to remove his armour. He began without a hint of reluctance, but it was strange to watch, slightly uncomfortable. In his days on Lakonia, Jamie had come to think of a Lakonian’s armour as their skin. To see Martius remove his was unpleasantly like seeing a man flayed. It came apart into many smaller and smaller pieces, dark red and black and grey. Piece by piece, the man inside was revealed.

Underneath the armour, he wore a sort of black jumpsuit made of something shiny that glistened when his muscles flexed. He removed that, too, unfastening the zips, revealing simple trousers, a bare chest, a thick coating of hair.

He was a less formidable opponent without his armour. For a moment Jamie could almost relax. Martius was just a man, after all. Taller and heavier than most, but a man the same as him. Not a giant, nor a colossus. _If David could fight Goliath_ , he told himself. If only he’d thought to ask for a slingshot.

He stepped towards the doors – and Martius loomed over him. “You seem a brave young man,” he said. “I will not relish killing you.”

The certainty with which he said it all but flayed Jamie’s nerves. It took every ounce of bravado in his body to draw himself upright and say, “aye, well. I’ll no’ relish killing you either.”

Martius gave him a look that was at once withering and pitiful. Then he grunted and turned to face the doors. “We are ready.”

As the two guards took ahold of the wheels and began to turn, Jamie breathed in deep. He balled his hands into fists and said a quick prayer to a god he wasn’t sure he believed in. The wheels went _clank_ and _clunk_ and with an almighty heave the doors opened. Light spilled into the shadowed chamber, a narrow crack that quickly widened to a blinking torrent. Startled, Jamie threw an arm over his eyes. It was only the sound of Martius shifting his weight as he moved that made him realise it was time.

Steeling himself, squeezing his borrowed knife hard, Jamie stepped into the arena…


	2. Episode 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Someone was going to die today and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the Doctor._

“You seem a brave young man. I’ll not relish killing you,” said Martius.

Staring up at him, his shoulders squared, Jamie said haltingly, “aye, well, I’ll no’ relish killing you either.”

Martius turned his eyes away, saying simply, “we are ready.”

With a dreadful grinding, the doors opened. Light swept through the chamber, blindingly bright. Feet crunching as they touched the sand, Martius and Jamie stepped into the arena.

*

The guards had led Zoe to a set of grim double doors. Unusually – perhaps uniquely in the citadel – they were decorated, a pair of stylised faces worked into the metal. She’d have liked to ask why, but she didn’t have the nerve. The doors ground open. She stepped out onto the polished stone beyond – and was startled to see none other than Queen Proserpina waiting for her.

Zoe was standing at the top of a short flight of steps. Ahead of her were three simple stone benches, two of them empty. Behind her, she saw as she twisted, was a wall of tight mesh and beyond it row after row of benches, towering up and up the side of the arena.

On the foremost bench at Proserpina. She was looking at Zoe, her steely eyes stern and sad. “I –” Zoe floundered, forgetting all the Doctor had told her about the proper way to address a War Queen.

“Sit with me, child.” Proserpina touched a gloved hand to the bench beside her.

“Thank-you,” said Zoe meekly. On shaking legs, she went to the bench and sat upon the cold stone. In front of her was more fine meshing, seeming to cloud the arena beyond in a grey mist.

“Have you ever seen a man killed?” said Proserpina.

She said it matter-of-factly, almost as one might ask a child if they knew their times tables – or if they’d been up in a spaceship – but with a patronising air. She would never, Zoe knew, ask this of a Lakonian. A Lakonian Zoe’s age would already be a killer. “As a matter of fact, I have,” she said primly.

“Good,” said Proserpina. “This shall be easier.”

In a sense, she was right. As much as the thought repelled her, in her time with the Doctor death _had_ become easier to bear. She’d seen more people killed than she could count and though it never stopped hurting – she wouldn’t _let_ it stop hurting – the hurt rolled off her so easily.

But not Jamie. Never Jamie.

Whatever retort she might have prepared, it died on her lips. Scanning the seats with their scattering of Lakonians, her gaze alighted on the Doctor. He was in a mesh cage of his own, tiny and shrunken between his guards, curling in on himself, his face dismal.

At the sight of him, she leapt to her feet. “Doctor!”

It was clear he’d already seen her. His eyes briefly met hers and in that moment his despair was almost palpable, haunting the air between them. If he’d ever had a plan to get Jamie out of this, it had already failed.

Her earlier anxiety forgotten, Zoe turned on Proserpina. “Please,” she begged, “please, let me go to him – he shouldn’t be alone.”

“He must be alone,” said Proserpina. “It is custom. Now sit.”

Zoe turned back to the Doctor and saw that his eyes were trained on the arena doors. She pressed her hands against the mesh. It gave slightly and she pushed at it, wishing with all her might that she could just phase through.

“ _Sit_ , child,” Proserpina repeated. This time it was a command.

She sat. Behind her, Lakonian nobles were filing into the benches. She recognised the men and women joining her and Proserpina in their cage. They were the highest of the high, the heads of all the great Lakonian houses. She saw Tibullus, and he her. His lip curled with contempt as he took the seat on the other side of Proserpina.

All around the arena, Lakonians were filling the seats like flies descending on a corpse. In moments, the black stone seats were covered in glinting red and green and gold armour. There was a murmur of anticipation in the air. This was a show, she realised, as much as a legal proceeding. It reminded her of her visit to ancient Rome – but these people weren’t ancients. They were thousands of years after her time. They ought to know better.

A sickening rumbling of metal and stone filled the air. The arena doors were opening. 

Out stepped Martius, stripped of his armour, all gleaming skin and muscle. The crowd raised a cry like a pack of wolves and he raised a hand in acknowledgement.

A step behind him came Jamie, glancing nervously around the arena. At first all he saw was a mass of glistening Lakonian armour and furious faces. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust so that he could pick out the Doctor. He was seated between two guards, as hunched over and dejected as Jamie’d ever seen him.

He turned away and saw Zoe, sitting beside Queen Proserpina. Their eyes met and he tried to give her an encouraging look, but he was struggling to muster encouraging thoughts for himself, let alone for another.

It was only Proserpina’s hand on her arm that kept Zoe in her seat. She couldn’t bear it. Jamie looked so tiny beside Martius, so tiny and vulnerable.

She wasn’t the only one so struck. Behind her, she heard a low voice say, “this will be quick.”

“Martius will gut that boy like a fish,” a second voice murmured back.

Zoe looked at the thick layer of sand on the arena floor, her mind clouding with images of blood soaking into it – _Jamie’s_ blood. She turned to Proserpina. “My War Queen,” she said. “Please – please, this isn’t fair. You have to stop this.”

Proserpina shook her head. Rising to her feet, she raised a hand into the air, signalling the champions. Martius nodded, and gestured to Jamie, a gesture that was opaque to Zoe but which Jamie must have understood, for her crossed the arena and took up his position, the mesh at his back. He was armed, Zoe noticed for the first time. Both of them carried knives. That was almost reassuring. Jamie could handle a knife, perhaps even better than Martius.

The crowd went silent. The War Queen dropped her hand.

In the arena, Jamie could swear the air around him grew colder. It was as if the atmosphere itself was on edge, rarefied. Martius’s expression was as neutral as ever, but the whole set of his body had changed. His shoulders dropper, loosening, readying himself for the fight.

For a moment, Jamie could almost relax. He’d done this before. Never in front of such an audience, true, but he’d been in more fights than he could count. His nerves calming, his senses priming, he raised his knife.

Martius moved first, the sand scrunching beneath his big feet as he side-stepped. Jamie followed, matching him step for step. They circled each other, slipping into synch, each of them primed, each of them searching for an opening.

Upon her bench, Proserpina’s hand fast on her arm, Zoe willed Jamie to be cautious. She could tell he was already growing restless. The inaction was all but choking her; in the arena it must have been unbearable. Circling, circling, Martius stony-faced, Jamie’s eyes darting about, searching for a way in.

He must have thought he’d found one – or else he’d simply snapped. With a cry, he charged. “Creag an _tuire_!”

With an almost effortless sweep of his arm, Martius knocked him aside. It was only Jamie’s quick reflexes that had saved him from a knife to the gut. He stumbled back, knocked off-kilter, realising too late that this was just what Martius had wanted.

His knife glinting in the light like a mirror, Martius struck at him, and struck again. Jamie dodged, his heart pounding, and dodged. He was quicker than Martius, and younger too, but unsteady on his feet.

The next swipe went for his heart. He just barely dodged, Martius’s blade slicing neatly through his upper arm. Pain seared through him, his nerves jangling, shock all but sucking the air from his lungs. He clapped his hand to his arm, blood welling between his fingers. Behind him he heard the Doctor cry out, “Jamie!” but didn’t turn to look.

The crowd was buzzing, excited. They thought it was almost over. Well, he’d prove them wrong. He had to prove them wrong.

He took his hand from his arm and raised his knife, but at the movement the cut on his arm stretched and throbbed. He staggered, head whirling, and in that moment Martius was on him.

Zoe watched in mute horror as with a lightning-quick swipe of his arm Martius disarmed Jamie, his knife tumbling from his grasp and sliding away on the smooth sand. Before Jamie could recover, Martius kicked his legs from under him and he went down, only just catching himself from sprawling face-first on the sand.

As Jamie struggled to his feet, Martius grabbed him by his bad arm and pulled, twisting it behind his back. She could see Jamie’s face contorted in pain, groping vainly for his knife, far out of reach.

Proserpina’s grip on her arm tightened, but it made no difference. Zoe might as well have been a statue, frozen as she was with fear. Martius was hefting his knife, readying himself for the killing blow.

As he raised his knife high, Jamie struck. Crying out, with his free hand he flung a fistful of bloody sand clean into Martius’s eyes.

The crowd roared. Martius reeled back with a yell of pain, blinded, losing his grip. In a moment Jamie was on his feet and before Martius had scraped the sand from his eyes he’d retrieved his knife and was poised to fight.

“Oh, clever boy!” exclaimed the Doctor.

“Yes!” cried Zoe. Jamie’s eyes flicked briefly in her direction and she thought perhaps he smiled. He had a cockier air about him, as if for the first time he truly believed he could win this – and for the first time Zoe let herself believe too.

Martius scrubbed a hand over his face and wheeled on Jamie, eyes red and furious. Jamie backed away, sand clinging to his blood-sticky hands. He was almost glad of the pain in his arm. It grounded him, reminded him that this was real. Someone was going to die today and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the Doctor.

The Lakonians were quieting. There was a new tension in the air, a sense of excitement, as Martius circled Jamie, backing him towards the mesh wall. He swiped, but Jamie dodged easily. He sensed that Martius was testing him, and resolved not to let his guard down for a moment.

Again, Martius swung at him, and again he dodged, ducking, dropping into a crouch. Their knives briefly connected, a metallic grating ringing around the arena.

“Careful, Jamie!” the Doctor cried, his voice quavering. Jamie glanced up at him and instantly regretted it as Martius’s dagger missed his throat by inches.

He darted here and there about the sanded arena, dodging, staying out of Martius’s reach. Martius’s arms were long and thick as tree branches, but they were slow, swinging about like great hammers. If he played it safe, it he could only stay clear, sooner or later Martius would get tired.

But sooner rather than later, Martius had him backed almost into the mesh wall. His dagger swung in a wide, glinting arc. Jamie threw himself to the ground and rolled, kicking at Martius’s ankles, and Martius’s knife raked down the mesh, a horrible grating of metal. Jamie was on his feet before Martius turned, back in the centre of the ring.

The crowd was rumbling, getting restless. Zoe could sense it. They didn’t want this – this dance. They wanted to see some blood. They wanted a fight and they wanted justice, or at least their twisted idea of it. She was sure Jamie could feel it and she hoped he wouldn’t give in. If he only kept doing what he was doing – kept _thinking_ for a change – he might stand a chance.

In the ring, Martius’s knife moved constantly, flitting back and forth, from hand to hand. Jamie followed it with his eyes, his attention trained on the blade as it glinted and danced. For all his brute force Martius could be nimble, and the constant movement made it hard to get a fix on him and harder still to find an opening. Keeping his back to the mesh, Jamie tried to match him, moving back when Martius moved forward, around and around the ring. Already he was beginning to tire and Martius was showing no signs of flagging. He was a wall of muscle and twisting blade, seemingly unstoppable.

But – no. Just as Jamie’s back touched the mesh, cornered yet again, Martius slipped. His knife stilled in his right hand, leaving his whole left side unguarded for long moments. If he was quick – brandishing his knife, he pushed off the wire and launched himself forward.

Zoe saw what Martius was planning a moment after Jamie charged – a moment too late. “Jamie, _no_!”

Like lightning, Martius’s fist swung through the air. He struck Jamie about the jaw, knocking him off-kilter, and before he could recover Martius brought up his knife – and jabbed.

For a moment, Jamie thought he’d merely been punched – a dull pain in his gut, it barely even hurt – a sensation like liquid fire trickling over his skin. The pain grew searing, and he gasped aloud, too shocked to even cry out. He could feel Martius’s breath on his face and looked up at his eyes. They were hard and cold, like chips of flint.

With a vile sucking sensation, Martius drew out his knife, blade catching for a moment on Jamie’s ribs with a hideous clicking. Fire licking his guts, spilling out over his skin.

Proserpina’s grip on Zoe’s arm was like iron. She could barely breathe, too horrified to call out, too horrified even to cry. She gasped, her breath coming in desperate half-sobs. She couldn’t look at the Doctor. She couldn’t look anywhere but at Jamie, staggering in the ring, blood spilling onto the sand. He touched a hand to the wound as if in disbelief – and sagged – and crumpled to his knees.

And the Lakonians – the Lakonians were _happy_. Some were clapping, applauding Martius’s victory. The sound made her sick to her stomach. Martius was circling away from Jamie, holding the bloody knife aloft as if in salute. Through the mesh the scene was grey and misty, like an old film, but it wasn’t a film, it was horribly, sickeningly real.

In the ring, Jamie pressed a hand to the stab wound, but blood soaked through his fingers. With every throb of his heart pain racked his body and all around him he could hear the Lakonians braying, baying for his blood like a pack of furious hounds. With grim certainty he saw he was going to die, right there before a crowd of people cheering on his killer.

Woozily, he raised his head – and saw the Doctor, held back from the mesh wall by his guards. His face was grey and broken and when for a moment their eyes met Jamie could see tears swimming.

He looked away. He couldn’t let the Doctor down – he _couldn’t_. But he was so tired – and Martius was coming for him.

Footsteps crunched on the sand. A hand twisted in his hair, tugging his head back, baring his throat for the crowd. Jamie opened his eyes and saw lights dancing, the white lights on the distant ceiling of the arena.

It was then that everything became clear. An eerie calm settled over him as he understood with new clarity what he had to do. He didn’t have to walk out of the arena; he didn’t even have to live.

He just had to live longer than Martius.

Zoe watched as Martius raised his knife, almost swaggering as he prepared to slice open Jamie’s throat as if he were about to – to swat a fly. It couldn’t end like this – it _couldn’t_. But it would. She couldn’t bear to watch. Screwing her eyes shut, she turned her face away.

Across the arena, the Doctor couldn’t tear his eyes from Jamie.

Martius gave Jamie’s hair another sharp tug – and this time Jamie moved with him, throwing his head back with a vengeance. The back of his head caught Martius full in the groin and Martius yelled out in pain, losing his grip, staggering back.

Zoe heard the yell and opened her eyes, head snapping round just in time to see Jamie roll over and kick Martius’s unsteady legs from under him. He went down hard. Hope flared up in her chest and she cried out, wordlessly cheering Jamie on, her voice joining the roar of the crowd.

Jamie scrambled across the sand, blind to everything but his knife. His scrabbling fingers found the hilt and he clutched at it, relishing the familiar sensation. Pressing a hand to the ground, he tried to rise.

It took an almost superhuman effort just to stand. His legs shook and the whole left side of his body was on fire, but still he stood, and pressed his hand to his wound, and turned on Martius.

It was clear that Martius could sense something had changed. What he saw in Jamie’s face unnerved him. His expression turned grimmer. “Stand down, boy,” he said. “You can’t win this.”

“Aye, we’ll see.” Jamie’s nose was bleeding. He wiped it, and staggered.

He was barely staying on his feet. It was sheer force of will, Zoe thought, that was keeping him going. Her brief elation was fading, but she refused to give up hope yet. Jamie had the strongest will of anyone she knew.

But whatever game Martius had been playing until now, he was finished. He threw himself at Jamie, knife missing his throat by mere inches. He struck again, this time nicking Jamie’s good arm. 

Jamie staggered back, the pain barely registering. He’d lost what little advantage he had. He was dizzy, sluggish, but charged with blind determination. He raised his knife, straightening up, ignoring the pain as his wound stretched, and faced Martius head on.

Zoe watched in mute horror as Martius slammed into Jamie, almost knocking him off his feet. Before he could recovered, Martius’s fist closed on his hand, snatching away his knife and flinging it against the mesh. Martius’s blade swung in an arc and blood beaded on the sand. Jamie stumbled back – and fell, heavily, to the ground.

It had taken only moments.

Martius looming over him, knife clutched in a bloody fist, Jamie kicked up and out. Martius’s dagger slipped from his wet hand and slithered to the ground. He grunted, groped for it, all while Jamie struggled, one-handed, to stand.

Her heart in her mouth, Zoe thought he might even make it – but Martius was on him. Jamie rolled onto his side, shielding himself, and Martius took a fistful of his shirt and tried to drag him up. Jamie pulled back, overbalancing Martius, sending him sprawling to the sandy ground.

Jamie scrambled, desperate, for his knife, but Martius held him down. One hand was on Jamie’s good arm, pinning it to the ground; the other held his knife, angling it at Jamie’s throat. Jamie struggled, kicking and shoving back, but Martius might have been stone, he was so unyielding. It was all he could do to keep Martius’s blade from his throat, pushing back, back against that thick wrist, his arm screaming in protest. Martius’s knife nicked his neck and blood streaked across his skin.

The arena was buzzing, primed with anticipation as Jamie struggled. His legs kicked. Blood was dripping onto the sand. He could only hold out against Martius for so long, Zoe knew, and she didn’t want to watch but she couldn’t look away, her eyes drawn to the unfolding violence by some sick magnetism.

Still, Jamie fought. He could hear Martius’s rough, hideous breathing, panting as he tried to jam his knife into Jamie’s throat. His eyes were hot, furious, glaring down at Jamie as if he had wronged him terribly. Jamie arched his neck back, away from the knife, gritting out a cry between his teeth. Martius took his hand from Jamie’s arm and gripped his hair, trying to force his head forward.

His arm. His arm was free. Jamie looked up at Martius’s thick neck, his throat wobbling back and forth as he breathed, and he knew what to do. Grunting, he hauled his arm up beneath Martius’s elbow, looped it around his neck, and squeezed, and squeezed.

By the time Martius saw the danger, it was too late. Jamie clung on tighter and tighter, for the Doctor’s life depended on it. Martius tried to pull away but they were too tangled up, his own weight was pinning him down. He dropped his knife and clawed at Jamie’s arm, his breath coming in ghastly choked pants. His eyes bulged and Jamie looked away, closing his own eyes and gritting his teeth, using every last ounce of strength in his body to slowly, slowly throttle him.

When Martius’s knife slipped from his hand, the rumbling faded to an abrupt and stunned silence. Martius’s body was spasming, his legs kicking as he tried, vainly, to escape. Zoe could scarcely breathe herself, could scarcely believe what she was seeing. Hope burned in her chest – and yet it was so brutal, so drawn-out, she wanted to be sick.

Martius’s breath came in choked gurgles. His hand clawed weakly at Jamie’s head, at his face, and Jamie clung grimly on. He could feel Martius’s throat constricting, feel his hot breath upon his neck. It smelled like blood. Something wet spattered onto his face. Martius’s legs kicked one last time – and he was still.

Still, Jamie didn’t relent. Not until he was sure. He squeezed until he felt Martius’s dying heartbeat slow – and stutter – and cease.

It was over.

He let go, let his aching arms fall to the ground. Martius’s body was like stone, a terrible weight crushing him. He could barely breathe, but he didn’t have the strength to move it. He was so tired, exhaustion settled into every fibre of his being, energy bleeding out of his veins. Lights glared above him, painfully bright. He closed his eyes. He was dimly aware of a roaring like rushing wind, but he didn’t care. He wanted so badly to sleep.

The crowd was screaming, howling out their disbelief at what they had witnessed. Zoe was on her feet, scrabbling at the mesh wall, crying out, her voice drowned in the sea of Lakonian screams. “Jamie! _Jamie_!” Martius was lying dead in the ring and Jamie – he was so still, he wasn’t moving, and if she could only _go_ to him –

“ _Jamie_!” The Doctor, his voice breaking through the roar. “Oh – oh, let me _go_ you – you brutes!” He squirmed out of the guards’ grip, shoving their hands aside with new fury, and tumbled out of his box. He was in the ring seemingly in moments, running over the blood-spotted sand, his arms and coat flapping. “Jamie – Jamie –”

Fingers clutching at the mesh, Zoe whipped around to face Proserpina. “Let me out there!” she said, not thinking to be deferential. “Let me _out_.”

Dimly, Jamie heard someone calling his name. He forced open his eyes and saw only a hazy blur of lights. A dark, wavering shape loomed over him. He blinked. The crushing weight atop him shifted – and it was gone – and he could _breathe_. He gulped down air, his eyes watering. He could feel hot blood spilling out of him and thought, hazily, that he’d be empty soon.

A hand touched his face – and the haze above him resolved into a familiar figure. “Doctor?”

“I’m here.” Hands cradling his head, lifting him up. He wanted so badly to speak, to say – so many things – but he was so tired. Muddy grey spots clouded his vision. He could feel himself slipping away, but it didn’t matter. The Doctor was here, and he was safe, and nothing else mattered. He sighed, his eyes falling closed, turning his face towards the Doctor, and let sleep take him.

*

A few hours later, Jamie lay in the brightly lit metallic chamber that was what passed for a Lakonian hospital. “Ow!” he hissed. “Hey – ow! _Ow_.”

“Big baby,” said the armoured woman stitching him up. She pulled another stitch tight. He winced.

“Aye, well, it hurts,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re done,” she said simply, and fetched a roll of clean white bandages.

He’d woken up with tubes and such in him and the Doctor nowhere in sight, and kicked up as much of a fuss as he could manage in his weakened state. The medical woman had scolded him till he’d quieted down and stopped him from ripping the tubes out and he was feeling much better – other than all the parts of him that hurt.

Voices carried through the metal archway. “Stuff and nonsense, I ask you,” said the Doctor, his voice echoing. “This whole mess –” He rounded the corner, Zoe at his heels. “Oh, Jamie! You’re up.”

“Doctor!” The last of the tension seeped out of Jamie’s body, replaced quickly by delight. He’d half-thought he’d never see him again – even knowing full well he’d won, part of him had been terrified they’d killed the Doctor anyway – that he’d dreamed seeing him in the ring – that –

Zoe and the Doctor hovered till the medical woman tied off the bandages, then came to his side. “How are you?” said Zoe.

“Other than stabbed in the gut?” Jamie rolled down his shirt, trying not to move too much. It hurt worst when he moved. “Oh, I’m fightin’ fit. I’ll go again. Just watch me.” He mimed punching – and clutched first his arm, then his ribs.

“Oh, do be careful!” The Doctor rested a steadying hand on his back.

He had deep cuts in both arms, scrapes and scratches and bruises all over that he’d not even noticed. Somehow he’d skinned his knees. His insides ached. The wound in his side was a throbbing burn that threatened to overtake everything, if he let it. “I’m alright,” he said. “It only hurts, erm, everywhere.”

“You lost a lot of blood,” said the Doctor. “You were lucky not to bleed to death out there.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” said the medical woman. “He’s strong, like an ox.”

“Eh?” said Jamie.

“You are a worthy champion,” said the medical woman. She gathered up her things and with a brisk nod to the Doctor left them alone.

Jamie watched her go, a haunted look upon his face. “I didn’t want to kill him,” he said, his voice lower and wearier than Zoe had ever heard it. “He was – he wasnae so bad. I didn’t want to.”

“You didn’t have any choice,” said the Doctor softly.

Jamie scoffed. “It was my own mess. Ye ken that well enough.”

“You did what you thought was best,” said the Doctor. His hand stroked Jamie’s hair, and Jamie closed his eyes, relishing the contact. This was real. He was really safe. “Besides, you’d never have been in that position if I hadn’t – if it weren’t for me.” He perched on the edge of the bed. “Listen, Jamie – I know that we didn’t part on the best terms, and I wanted to say that – well, that I’m sorry.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” said Jamie. “You were right. I was so stupid, I never should have –”

“Oh, you two!” interrupted Zoe. “You’re both sorry, and _I’m_ sorry while we’re at it. There. Are we done?”

The Doctor and Jamie exchanged a look. There was more Jamie wanted to say and he could tell from the Doctor’s eyes there was more he wanted to say, too. Perhaps it ought to wait till they were safely back in the TARDIS – if then.

“Well, I – I feel I ought to thank you,” said the Doctor. “You did a very brave thing for me, and I – I’m not at all sure I deserve it.” He laced their fingers together. Jamie squeezed his hand. He didn’t know what to say. “But don’t you get any ideas!” The Doctor waved a finger at him accusingly. “Don’t you ever do it again! Do you hear me?”

“Aye, alright,” said Jamie. “I willnae do it again – and you’re no’ to get accused of murder again, aye?”

“Ah, well.” The Doctor looked sheepish. “I shall make no promises.”

“Honestly,” Zoe remarked. “You’re as bad as each other. Doctor, just what exactly were you doing –”

Before she could finish her question, the grinding of a door sounded through the chamber, followed by clunking footsteps. Tibullus appeared in the archway and shot all three of them a venomous look. “I will not stand for this – injustice!” he bellowed, pointing an accusing finger at Jamie. “I do not accept this!”

“I rather think you’re going to have to,” said the Doctor, gripping Jamie’s shoulder tight.

“I will not!” Tibullus stepped fully into the chamber – and behind him was Queen Proserpina, so wide that she could barely fit through the archway. Behind her came four steely guards. Jamie swallowed and shifted closer to the Doctor. He was in no fit state to protect him, but he’d do his best. Zoe went to the Doctor’s other side and stood half in front of him, shielding him from Tibullus.

“There was no honour in this killing!” proclaimed Tibullus. “Your champion spilled no blood – only a coward spills no blood! He isn’t even one of our people – I demand –”

“Tibullus.” With that single word, Queen Proserpina silenced him. His throat worked in frustration. “The God has spoken,” she said more softly. “Both champions fought well. Martius died a clean, honourable death. If you continue your pointless screeching I shall have you removed.” Tibullus’s eyes narrowed, but he had the sense not to speak. “Doctor,” she went on. “You are free to go.”

“Yes, ah, thank you, my War Queen.” The Doctor coughed lightly and hopped off the bed, taking out his handkerchief and passing it from hand to hand. “That just leaves the, ah, small matter of who really killed Lucius.”

Proserpina looked taken aback. Tibullus looked incensed. He took a breath to speak, but Proserpina said, “you truly didn’t?”

“I truly didn’t.” The Doctor held up his hands, the handkerchief tucked into one palm.

“Then we must mount an investigation.” Proserpina straightened her back, armour creaking.

“An excellent plan,” said the Doctor. “Far better than running around accusing anyone who looks shifty and hacking chunks off each other until you happen to kill the man responsible.” He balled up his handkerchief. “I believe I may be able to help.”

“My War Queen,” broke in Tibullus, “I must protest. This man –” Proserpina held up a hand, silencing him. She motioned for the Doctor to go on.

“You see, it all hinges on this.” From one of his bottomless pockets, the Doctor took a black-and-silver gun-shaped object – a fluid injector, Zoe saw, like the one that had killed Lucius.

“You see, this is proof!” Tibullus cried. “My War Queen, he is a liar and a cheat – he brings tools like those used to kill my brother –”

“Oh dear, I must apologise for the misunderstanding. You see,” the Doctor waggled the fluid injector, “this isn’t mine. I borrowed it – from your guards, my queen. I’m terribly sorry.”

Jamie stared at the injector. “You mean that’s –”

“Yes, quite,” said the Doctor, gleefully glossing over his act of petty theft – not to mention, Zoe thought, contaminating the evidence by putting his grubby fingers all over it.

“Ye pilfered it,” said Jamie.

“Quiet, Jamie,” said the Doctor. “Now, see here.” He showed Proserpina a stamp on the side of the injector. “I don’t suppose you recognise this – no? If I’m not mistaken, that’s the mark of Andromeda Industries – ah, I see you know them?”

“I know of them.” Proserpina’s face was darkening. Zoe suspected she was putting the pieces together, though what the pieces _were_ she couldn’t fathom.

“Would I be right in, ah, presuming that they made you a very generous offer some months ago?” As he spoke, the Doctor tapped the injector.

“They did,” said Proserpina. “I refused.”

“I really must commend your judgement,” said the Doctor. “I, ah, imagine Andromeda Industries is just one of any number of thoroughly nasty companies that would like to see the back of your isolation policy. You see, medical supplies are something of a side-line – they’re an arms company.” He tossed the fluid injector haphazardly onto Jamie’s bed.

“But why would they kill Lucius?” Zoe wondered aloud.

“I could think of a number of reasons,” said the Doctor. “Perhaps they just meant to spread distrust of off-worlders – I’m sure if you were to take your particular manner of war to other worlds they’d make a mint.” He ran his handkerchief between his fingers. “But I, ah, think Lucius was targeted for a reason. I think that, after you turned down their kind offer, they went to Lucius. I suppose they hoped he would be less principled.”

“But they were wrong, aye?” said Jamie.

“Quite, quite wrong,” said the Doctor. “Lucius would never. I imagine that’s what he wanted to see me about, that night in the catacombs – perhaps he wanted my advice.”

“You propose they killed him for refusing their offer?” said Proserpina.

“Not exactly.” The Doctor tapped his fingers together, and said, “my War Queen, imagine – Gods forbid! – you were to fall in battle – who would have succeeded you?”

“Well, I –” Proserpina’s features froze as she understood. “Lucius. My people would have chosen Lucius.”

“Quite,” said the Doctor. “When Lucius refused, they found someone else and bought him out. They smuggled him this.” He gestured at the fluid injector. “Now, getting any off-world weaponry onto Lakonia would be all but impossible – not to mention highly dangerous – but a few medical supplies wouldn’t pose a problem, to an experienced man. They had their murder weapon – they had their target – and I, to my, ah, deepest regret, gave them their murderer. A very tidy plan, I must say. Kill Lucius before he could tell you Andromeda Industries was looking for a man on the inside and get people thinking the citadel had been infiltrated by off-worlders in one fell swoop – when _you_ were murdered in a similar manner, my Queen, your people would be whipped into a frenzy. They’d go to war.”

“Me?” Proserpina looked startled.

“Ah, yes,” said the Doctor. “I’m certain you would have been their next target, my War Queen.”

“My War Queen, don’t listen to this nonsense –” Tibullus snarled. Proserpina silenced him.

Her faced was positively thunderous. Jamie expected her to roar like a lion, but instead when she spoke her voice was barely a whisper. “Who would do this? Who would _dare_?”

“Well, I, ah, imagine someone who would stand to gain from Lucius’s death,” said the Doctor.

“That could be any number of people!” Zoe exclaimed. Lucius had been one of the most important and influential men in the citadel.

“A rival citadel, perhaps?” said Proserpina.

“Perhaps.” The Doctor twisted his handkerchief. “But I think not.”

“Then who?” said Proserpina.

“I have my suspicions.” The Doctor heaved a great sigh, and said, “your own brother, Tibullus. How could you?”

Tibullus turned grey. His expression of abject shame gave the game away before he had even spoken. “How did you know?” he breathed.

“You just told me.” The Doctor tucked his handkerchief neatly back into his pocket. “You have your killer, my War Queen.”

“My War Queen,” said Tibullus, “my Queen, I – I can explain –”

Proserpina didn’t dignify him with a response. “Guards!” she bellowed, almost shaking the chamber. “Take him. Strip him of his armour. Lock him away.”

Tibullus cried out when the guards gripped him protesting his innocence, stammering excuses, but all of it fell on fear ears. Jamie and Zoe watched as he was taken away, proud even through their exhaustion.

“You have my thanks,” said Proserpina to the Doctor. “And you,” said said to Jamie. “You fought bravely.”

Jamie shifted, uncomfortable. “Thank-you,” he said, to be polite. “I didn’t want to – I’m sorry about Martius.”

Proserpina shook her head. “There is no shame in dying in a trial. He sits in the hall of fallen warriors.”

“Even so,” said Jamie. “I’m sorry. Will ye – will you tell his family?”

“They know,” said Proserpina. “You were a worthy champion. You have the spirit of a true Lakonian.” With that, she nodded to the Doctor and left them.

Jamie watched her go, uneasy. He didn’t want the spirit of a true Lakonian anywhere near him, let alone _in_ him. When he closed his eyes he could see Martius’s face looming over him, his stricken expression when he saw that he was doomed. He shuddered, and turned to Zoe. “What did I tell you?” he said. “Didn’t I say it was that Tibullus? I told you he was shifty. His eyes are too closed together.”

Zoe sighed. “You’re incorrigible.”

Jamie laughed – and winced as pain rolled through him. He clutched his ribs, breathing through it.

Zoe’s hand touched his shoulder. “I was so sure – I really thought you’d had it, out there.”

“Aye,” said Jamie. “So did I.” Zoe slipped her arm around his shoulders, tentative, careful not to hurt him.

“Well, it’s over now,” said the Doctor in soothing tones. “Oh – oh, come here, the pair of you.” Plopping down on the bed, he opened his arms and pulled them both into a hug.

Zoe tensed, hesitated – and relaxed into it, snuggling into Jamie’s chest, reaching out for the Doctor. Jamie’s arm slid tentatively around her waist. His other arm he tucked around the Doctor, squeezing him tight. They didn’t let go for a long while.

*

The wind on the mountainside was biting, the ground loose. Gravel slithered beneath the soles of their shoes. Boulders were scattered about as if tossed by a giant, some of them taller than Zoe’s head. Here and there were patches of blackened ground and twisted metal.

Pausing for breath, Jamie looked back, up the perilous slope at the citadel revolving far above them. “I’ll be glad to see the back of this place.”

“If you ask me, we can’t get away fast enough,” Zoe agreed, leaning on a filthy rock as she picked her way down a particularly loose stretch.

“Yes, quite,” said the Doctor, arms spread out to balance himself. “For the time being,” he added, half to himself.

Jamie and Zoe exchanged a look. “Did you know – what was going to happen?” Zoe asked.

“I had a notion of a hunch,” said the Doctor, his face in shadow. “I’ve been keeping an eye on this planet.” Stepping from one boulder to the next, Jamie winced, clutching his side. Clucking his tongue, the Doctor hopped back over the rocks and took Jamie’s hand. “Oh, careful! Here.”

“Och, I’m fine!” said Jamie as the Doctor guided him over the jagged rocks. “I dinnae need you helping me.”

“I’ll not have you ripping out those stitches, do you hear?” The Doctor jumped off the last boulder and reached up to help first Jamie, then Zoe, do the same.

They’d reached the bottom of the mountain. Stretched out before them was a vast plain of dust, rocks and the twisted remains of Lakonian weaponry. Nothing moved except the dust in the wind. There was nothing alive that Jamie could see, nothing but desolation – and the TARDIS, a single spot of colour in the near distance.

With a sigh, the Doctor tucked his hands into his pockets. “It’s not, ah, the easiest place to live,” he said. “When you live on a world this harsh – sometimes it’s necessary to fight to survive.” He fell silent, slipping into one of his moody reveries of thought. Somewhere the wind whistled.

After a moment, Jamie touched a hand lightly to the Doctor’s shoulder. With a shiver, he shrugged off his introspective mood. Lifting his head, he stepped out onto the plain. “Come along, Jamie, Zoe,” he said. “I’m sure we could all use a cup of tea – and plenty of bed rest for you, Jamie.

For once, Jamie didn’t argue. He touched a hand to his ribs and grimaced.

“And after that, we shall, ah, go somewhere relaxing,” said the Doctor brightly.

“Och, not again,” exclaimed Jamie.

“Remember Dulkis, Doctor?” warned Zoe.

“Oh, no no no,” said the Doctor. “I have the perfect planet in mind. Beautiful beaches – air that smells like honeysuckle – utterly unspoiled –” He trotted off across the plain, still talking about his holiday spot even as his voice faded into the distance. “And excellent fishing!” they heard, carried back to them on the wind.

Standing in the shadow of the mighty boulders, Jamie and Zoe shared a smile. She took his hand. “You can lean on me,” she said, and began to help him back to the TARDIS.


End file.
